Bones of Haven Read online

  Hawk winked his single eye. Winter coughed loudly to get their attention.

  "Crawling Jenny is something of an enigma. It's a living mixture of moss, fungi, and cobwebs, with staring eyes and snapping mouths. It was only five or six feet in diameter when it was first removed from the Street of Gods because it was menacing the tourists. Now it fills most of its cell. If some fool's let Crawling Jenny loose and it's been feeding all this time, there's no telling how big it might be by now.

  "The Brimstone Boys are human constructs, neither living nor dead. They smell of dust and sulphur, and their eyes bleed. Their presence distorts reality, and they bring entropy wherever they go. There are only two of them, thank all the Gods, but watch yourselves; they're dangerous. We lost five Constables and two sorcerers taking them. I don't want to add to that number.

  "And finally, we come to Who Knows. We don't know what that is. It's big, very nasty, and completely invisible. And judging by the state of its victims' bodies, it's got a hell of a lot of teeth. They caught it with nets, pushed it into its cell on the end of several long poles, and nobody's gone near it since. It hasn't been fed for over a month, but it's still alive—as far as anyone can tell."

  "I've just had a great idea," said Fisher, when Winter finally paused for breath. "Let's turn around, go back, and swear blind we couldn't find Hell Wing."

  "I'll go along with that," said Barber.

  Winter's mouth twitched. "It's tempting, I'll admit, but no. We're SWAT, and we can handle anything. It says so in our contract. Listen up, people. This is how we're going to do it. Storm, you open up the gateway and then stand back. Barber, Hawk, and Fisher—you'll go through first. If you see something and it moves, hit it. Hard. Storm will be right behind you, to provide whatever magical support you need. I'll bring up the rear. Mac, you stay back here and guard the entrance. I don't want anyone sneaking up on us from behind."

  "You never let me in on the exciting stuff," said MacReady.

  "Yes," said Winter. "And aren't you grateful?"

  "Very."

  Winter smiled, and turned back to the others. "Take your places, people. Storm, open the gateway."

  The sorcerer walked a few steps down the corridor and began muttering to himself under his breath. Barber stepped forward to take the point, and Hawk and Fisher moved in on either side of him. Barber glanced at them briefly, and frowned.

  "Don't you people believe in amour? This isn't some bar brawl we're walking into."

  "Amour just slows you down," said Hawk. "The Guard experiments with it from time to time, but it's never caught on. With the kind of work we do, it's more important for us to be able to move freely and react quickly. You can't chase a pickpocket down a crowded street while wearing chain mail. Our cloaks have steel mesh built into them, but that's it."

  "And you don't even wear that, most of the time, unless I nag you," said Fisher.

  Hawk shrugged. "Don't like cloaks. They get in the way while I'm fighting."

  "I've always believed in amour," said Barber, swinging his sword loosely before him. He seemed perfectly relaxed, but his gaze never left Storm. "It doesn't matter how good you are with a blade, there's always someone better, or luckier, and that's when a good set of chain mail comes into its own."

  He broke off as the sorcerer's voice rose suddenly, and then cut off sharply. The floor lurched and dropped away beneath their feet for a heart-stopping moment before becoming firm again. A huge metal door hung unsupported on the air right in front of them, floating two or three inches off the ground. An eight-foot-tall slab of roughly beaten steel, it gleamed dully in the lamplight, and then, as they watched, it swung slowly open to reveal a featureless, impenetrable darkness. A cold breeze blew steadily from the doorway, carrying vague, blurred sounds from off in the distance. Hawk thought he heard something that might have been screaming, or laughter, but it was gone too quickly for him to identify it.

  "Move it," said Storm tightly. "I don't know how long I can keep the gateway open. There's so much stray magic around, it's distorting my spells."

  "You heard the man," said Winter. "Go go go!"

  Barber stepped through the doorway, and the darkness swallowed him up. Hawk and Fisher followed him in, blades at the ready. The darkness quickly gave way to a vague, sourceless silver glow. Barber, Hawk, and Fisher moved immediately to take up a defensive pattern, looking quickly about them for possible threats. They were standing in a narrow corridor that seemed to stretch away forever. The walls and the low ceiling were both covered with a thick mass of dirty grey cobwebs. The floor was a pale, pockmarked stone, splashed here and there with dark spots of dried blood. There was a brief disturbance in the air behind them as first Storm and then Winter appeared out of nowhere to join them.

  "All clear here, Jessica," said Barber quietly. "No sign of anyone, or anything."

  "If this is Hell Wing, I don't think much of it," said Fisher. "Don't they ever clean up in here?"

  "I'm not sure where or what this is," said Storm. "It doesn't feel like Hell Wing. The air is charged with magic, but there's no trace of the standard security spells that ought to be here. Everything… feels wrong."

  "Are you saying you've brought us to the wrong place?" asked Hawk dangerously.

  "Of course not!" snapped the sorcerer. "This is where Hell Wing used to be. This is what has… replaced Hell Wing. I think we have to assume the creatures have broken loose. All of them."

  Barber cursed softly, and hefted his sword. "I don't like this, Jessica. They must have known somebody would be coming. Odds are this place is one big trap, set and primed just for us."

  "Could be," said Winter. "But let's not panic just yet, all right? Nothing's actually threatened us so far. Storm, where does this corridor lead?"

  Storm shook his head angrily. "I can't tell. My Sight's all but useless here. But there's something up ahead; I can feel it. I think it's watching us."

  "Then let's go find it," said Winter briskly. "Barber, you have the point. Let's take this one step at a time, people. And remember, we're not just looking for the creatures. The rioters who opened the gateway have got to be here somewhere. And, people, when we find them, I don't want any heroics. If any of the rioters wants to surrender, that's fine, but no one's to take any chances with them. All right; move out. Let's get the job done."

  They moved off down the corridor, and the darkness retreated before them so that they moved always in the same sourceless silver glow. The thick matted cobwebs that furred the walls and ceiling hung down here and there in grimy streamers that swayed gently on the air, stirred by an unfelt breeze. Noises came and went in the distance, lingering just long enough to chill the blood and disturb the mind. Hawk held his axe before him, his hands clutching the haft so tightly that his knuckles showed white. His instincts were screaming at him to get out while he still could, but he couldn't just turn tail and run. Not in front of Winter. Besides, she was right; even if this place was a trap, they still had a job to do. He glared at the darkness ahead of them, and then glanced back over his shoulder. The darkness was there too, following the pool of light the team moved in. More and more it seemed to Hawk that they were moving through the body of some immense unnatural beast, as though they'd been swallowed alive and were soon to be digested.

  Barber stopped suddenly, and they all piled up behind him, somehow just managing to avoid toppling each other. Barber silently indicated the right-hand wall, and they crowded round to examine it. There was a ragged break in the thick matting of dirty grey cobwebs, revealing a plain wooden door, standing slightly ajar. The wood was scarred and gouged as though by claws, and splashed with dried blood. The heavy iron lock had been smashed, and was half hanging away from the door. Winter gestured for them all to move back, and they did so.

  "It seems my first guess was wrong," said Storm quietly. "This is Hell Wing, after all, merely hidden and disguised by this… transformation. The lock quite clearly bears the prison's official mark. Presumably the door leads to w
hat was originally one of the cells."

  "Any idea what's in there?" asked Winter softly.

  "Something magical, but that's all I can tell. Might be alive, might not. Again, there's so much stray magic floating around, my Sight can't see through it."

  "Then why not just open the door and take a look?" said Hawk bluntly. "I've had it up to here with sneaking around, and I'm just in the mood to hit something. All we have to do is kick the door in, and then fill the gap so that whatever's in there can't escape."

  "Sounds good to me," said Fisher. "Who gets to kick the door in?"

  "I do," said Barber. "I'm still the point man."

  He looked at Winter, and she nodded. Barber moved silently back to the door and the others formed up behind him, weapons at the ready. Barber took a firm grip on his sword, lifted his left boot, and slammed it hard against the door. The heavy door swung inward on groaning hinges, revealing half of the small, gloomy cell. Barber hit the door again and it swung all the way open. Everybody tensed, ready for any sudden sound or movement, but nothing happened. The cell wasn't much bigger than a privy, and it smelled much the same. The only illumination was the silver glow falling in from the corridor outside, but it was more than enough to show that the cell was completely empty. There was no bed or other furnishings—only some filthy straw on the floor.

  Some of the tension went out of Hawk, and he lowered his axe. "Looks like you got it wrong this time, Storm; no one's home. Whoever or whatever used to be locked up in here is long gone now."

  "With a trusting nature like yours, Captain, I'm astonished you've lasted as long as you have," the sorcerer said acidly. "The cell's occupant is quite likely still here, held by its geas, even though the lock has been broken. You just can't see it, that's all."

  Anyone else would have blushed. As it was, Hawk spent a moment looking down at his boots before nodding briefly to the sorcerer and then staring into the cell with renewed interest. "Right. I'd forgotten about Who Knows, the invisible creature. You're sure the geas is still controlling it?"

  "Of course!" snapped Storm. "If it wasn't, the creature would have attacked us by now."

  "Not necessarily," said Winter slowly. "It might just be waiting for us to lower our guard. Which presents us with something of a problem. If it isn't still held by its geas, we can't afford to just turn our backs and walk away. It might come after us. The reports I saw described it as immensely strong and entirely malevolent."

  "Which means," said Barber, "someone's going to have to go into that cell and check the thing's actually there."

  "Good idea," said Fisher. "Hawk, just pop in and check it out, would you?"

  Hawk looked at her. "You pop in and check it out. Do I look crazy?"

  "Good point."

  "I'll do it," said Barber.

  "No you won't," said Winter quickly. "No one's going into that cell. I can't afford to lose any of you. Barber, hand me an incendiary."

  Barber smiled briefly, and reached into a leather pouch at his belt. He brought out a small smooth stone that glowed a dull, sullen red in the gloom, like a coal that had been left too long in the fire, and handed it carefully to Winter. She hefted it briefly, and then tossed it casually from hand to hand while staring into the apparently empty cell. Barber winced. Winter turned to Hawk and Fisher, and gestured with the glowing stone.

  "I don't suppose you've seen one of these before. It's something new the Guard sorcerers came up with. We're field-testing them. Each incendiary is a moment taken out of time from an exploding volcano; an instant of appalling heat and violence fixed in time like an insect trapped in amber. All I have to do is say the right Word, throw the damn thing as far as I can, and a few seconds later the spell collapses, releasing all that heat and violence. Which is pretty unfortunate for anything that happens to be in the vicinity at the time. If Who Knows is in that cell, it's about to get a very nasty surprise. Stand ready, people. As soon as I throw this thing, I want that door slammed shut fast and everyone out of the way of the blast."

  "What kind of range does it cover?" said Hawk.

  "That's one of the things we're testing."

  "I had a suspicion you were going to say something like that."

  Winter lifted the stone to her mouth, whispered something, and then tossed the incendiary into the cell. She stepped quickly back and to one side. Hawk and Barber slammed the cell door shut and put their backs to the wall on either side of it. A moment later, the door was blown clean off its hinges by a blast of superheated air and hurled into the corridor. Hawk put up an arm to protect his face from the sudden, intense heat, and a glaring crimson light filled the corridor. The wooden door frame burst into flames, and the cobwebs on the corridor wall opposite scorched and blackened in an instant. In the heart of the leaping flames that filled the cell something dark and shapeless thrashed and screamed and was finally still. The temperature in the corridor grew intolerably hot, and Hawk backed away down the corridor, mopping at the sweat that ran down his face. The others moved with him, and he was about to suggest they all run like hell for the gateway, when the flames suddenly died away. The crimson glare disappeared, and the temperature dropped as quickly as it had risen. There was a vile smell on the smoky air, but the only sound was the quiet crackling of the flames as they consumed the door frame. Hawk moved slowly forward and peered cautiously into the cell. The walls were blackened with soot, and smoke hung heavily on the still air, but there was no sign of the cell's occupant, dead or alive.

  "Think we got it?" asked Fisher, just behind him.

  Hawk shrugged. "Who knows? But we'd better hope so. If the incendiary didn't kill it, I'd hate to think of the mood it must be in."

  "It's dead," said Storm shortly. "I felt it die."

  "Handy things, those incendiaries," said Hawk casually as he and Fisher turned back to face the others. "How long do you think it'll be before they're released to the rest of the Guard?"

  "Hopefully never, in your case," said Storm. "Given your reputation for death and destruction."

  "You don't want to believe everything you hear," said Hawk.

  "Just the bad bits," said Fisher.

  Hawk looked at her reproachfully. Winter coughed behind a raised hand. "Let's move it, people. We've got a lot more ground to cover yet. Barber, take the point again. Everyone else as before. Let's go."

  They moved on down the corridor, and the sourceless silver glow moved with them. Hawk glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to see the burning door frame glowing in the gloom, but there was only the darkness, deep and impenetrable. Hawk turned away, and didn't look back again. The corridor seemed to go on forever, and without any way of judging how far they'd come, Hawk began to lose his sense of time. It seemed like they'd been walking for hours, but still the corridor stretched away before them, the only sound the quiet slapping of their boots on the stone floor. The dense growth of filthy matted cobwebs on the walls and ceiling grew steadily thicker, making the corridor seem increasingly narrow. Storm had to bend forward to avoid brushing the cobwebs with his head. AH of them were careful to avoid touching the stuff. It looked diseased.

  They finally came to another cell, with the door standing slightly open, as before. Storm stared at it for a long time, but was finally forced to admit he couldn't See anything anymore. Magic was running loose in Hell Wing, and he had become as blind as the rest of them. In the end, Barber kicked the door in, and he and Hawk charged in with weapons at the ready. The cell looked much like the last one, save for a canvas on an easel standing in the middle of the room, facing the back wall. Averting their eyes from the painting, Hawk and Barber checked the cell thoroughly, but there was nothing else there. Winter directed the others to stay out in the corridor and told Hawk to inspect the canvas. If it was what they thought it was, his single eye should help protect him from the painting's curse. Barber stood by, carefully watching Hawk rather than the painting, so that if anything went wrong he could pull Hawk away before the curse could affect him. That w
as the theory, anyway.

  Hawk glanced out the cell door, and nodded reassuringly to Fisher. She wasn't fooled, but gave him a smile anyway. Hawk stepped in front of the easel, and looked for the first time at Messerschmann's Portrait. The scene was a bleak and open plain, arid and fractured, with no trace of life anywhere, save for the single figure of a man in the foreground. The man stared wildly out of the Portrait, so close it seemed Hawk could almost reach out and touch him. He was wearing a torn and ragged prison uniform, and his face was twisted with terror and madness.

  "Damn," said Hawk, hardly aware he'd spoken aloud. "It's got out."

  The background scene had been painted with staggering realism. Hawk could almost feel the oppressive heat wafting out of the painting at him. The figure in the foreground was so alive he seemed almost to be moving, drawing closer… Suddenly Hawk was falling, and he put out his hands instinctively to break his fall. His palms slapped hard against the cold stone floor of the cell, and he was suddenly shocked into awareness again. His gaze fell on the Portrait, and he scrabbled backwards across the floor away from it, his gaze averted, until his back was pressed against the far cell wall.

  "Take it easy," said Fisher, kneeling down beside him. "Barber spotted something was wrong, and pulled you away from the Portrait when you wouldn't answer him. You feeling all right now?"

  "Sure," said Hawk quickly. "Fine. Help me up, would you?"

  Fisher and Barber got him on his feet again, and he smiled his thanks and waved them away. He was careful not even to glance in the Portrait's direction as he left the cell to make his report to Winter.

  "Whatever was in the Portrait originally has got out and is running loose somewhere in Hell Wing. One of the rioters has taken its place. Is there any way we can get him out?"

  "Only by replacing him with someone else," said Storm. "That's the way the curse works."

  "Then there's nothing more we can do here," said Winter. "If you've fully recovered, Captain, I think we should move on."